From Ethan's Point of View
by Ripper101
Summary: It is SLASH, people! I don't have a summary the title says it all.


Pairing: Ethan/ Giles obviously. I don't write much else.  
  
Disclaimer: I don't own 'em and all the rest.  
  
Author's Note: I'm actually a little ashamed of this one; it's not as good as I would like it to be. But what the heck! I figure I'll put it out there and some healthy criticism will do me some good.  
  
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Adventurers don't fall in love and they certainly don't fall in love with the wrong sort of man. But when has my life ever been normal? Chaos being what I adore, I believe it's self-evident that I wouldn't change my love life for the world.  
  
Rupert Giles.  
  
Such a ridiculous name and such a ridiculous heritage- just a young man so riddled with fear, low self-esteem and hormones that he was ripe for my evil intentions.  
  
God, how I remember it! Walking down this street of London, I can still feel the power that made me turn and follow him into the British Museum. The British bloody Museum- who'd have thought? But I followed him in and truth be told I hadn't even seen what he looked like. I just knew that he was practicing the kind of magic that I did. And something told me he knew more about it that my amateur research allowed me to.  
  
But as I was saying, I followed him into the rooms and of all things there he looked at the archeology section, the Egyptians in particular. To this day I have no idea why. But he looked at this priceless scroll and for the first time I saw his face in profile. And he doesn't look that great in profile, need I remind you.  
  
So I hesitated. I had hoped for a dark haired beauty but what I got was a wiry bloke who clinched my worst fears by pulling out a pair of glasses to get a better look. I sighed and debated leaving. And I would have, except he turned to look straight at me. And he wasn't absent-minded or shy or wary; he just looked. I decided.  
  
"Hello. Interesting, isn't it?" I remarked politely, strolling up.  
  
I must have looked a queer sight wandering around in the midst of these academic types in my pink jacket with a cigarette in my mouth. He blinked and I noticed curiously green eyes. Those I liked. The rest could have done with a bit more work by the divinity that constructed him.  
  
"It's interesting to me," he agreed composedly, "But you haven't even looked at it yet. How do you know it's interesting to you?"  
  
"I've seen it before," I lied in a heartbeat. My talent for lying is just as great as my talent for acting and I have needed both many times in my life.  
  
He smiled then and I saw that what I saw as a composed face was really the shyest of all. "I don't think so. You followed me here," he reasoned. I stayed silent and raised my eyebrows. He looked back with a slight smile. "It's the magic, isn't it? You're like me."  
  
And then I made another decision. I am usually a good judge of character. That was the day I should have ignored myself and run a mile. Instead I smiled, held out my hand and introduced myself, letting my old accent creep back.  
  
"Ethan Rayne," I said.  
  
He pulled his glasses off and looked more closely at me. Then he shook hands solemnly and almost crushed my fingers. "Rupert Giles. Nice to meet you," he said formally.  
  
Rupert Giles.  
  
As I said, such an unusual name. His father should have been hexed for inflicting 'Rupert' on his son. The poor dear was traumatized by all the schoolboy teasing. And his father traumatized him enough as it was.  
  
It went from there. We walked around that silly room about twenty times, discussing magic and life. He was painfully ready to spill his secrets to me. I've never ceased to wonder why, especially since the last time I met him, when he betrayed me in the worst possible way. But that's neither here nor there. I left, fully expecting to never see him again. I'd gotten some valuable information out of him anyway. He had served his purpose.  
  
Until he turned up drunk in my bar. I walked in one night with Phillip and saw him slumped over the counter top. The barman didn't bother you so long as you didn't forget to pay. Phillip and I would take advantage of that, and of the back alleyway and the cubicles in the men's urinal. It was filthy, but we weren't usually too concerned with hygiene back then.  
  
"You know that guy?" Phillip asked when I swore under my breath.  
  
"He's some bloke I met in the Museum," I grinned.  
  
Phillip guffawed, his dark head thrown back, the bronzed column of his neck a sheer sexual delight. Yes, a dark haired beauty who unfortunately I couldn't seem to fall in love with. But he did suggest we keep him company. I think he wanted to pick his pocket, though, so I don't credit his finer feelings for it.  
  
"Rupert Giles?" I said, tapping him on the shoulder.  
  
He was suspicious even then I'll have you know. He gripped my wrist, spun around and had my arm almost twisted to breaking point. I sank to my knees in a wave of pain and Phillip was kicked aside with a well-timed boot. I suppose he realized who I was because he let go and helped me up, stammering apologies. I wasn't feeling very nice to him that night, no.  
  
"What the fuck was that?" I snapped.  
  
He shrugged. "I'm sorry. Did I hurt you?"  
  
"No, just broke my shoulder," I snarled.  
  
Phillip wasn't disposed very kindly towards him either. He almost invited him to take it outside. I had to kiss him quiet. Whereupon Rupert blushed and looked quickly away.  
  
We drank the night away. Rupert was already well on his way so he was almost under the table when we were done. I didn't know where to deposit him, so I took him home. Well, not home. That was supposed to be an old- fashioned family estate in the country, something no self-respecting adventurer should bother with. This was a grubby apartment in a derelict part of town. Phillip dropped him on the couch and we took ourselves off to the bedroom.  
  
The morning was awkward. But when are morning afters ever not? I have to admit, I found it hilarious how embarrassed he became every time Phillip touched me (which he did often). Rupert was so in love with me I was cruel about it. I jumped Phillip in that tiny kitchen while the three of us were trying to get coffee. With Rupert trapped in a corner and Phillip in the doorway, he witnessed everything. I have never seen such an interesting shade of red since.  
  
"I need to leave," he murmured, as soon as he could get out of there.  
  
I watched him run out and listened to Phillip's intellectually un- stimulating conversation all morning. I kept him happy with a few magic tricks and sent him on his way. I smugly decided that I would never have to see Rupert again. It must be fairly obvious I was wrong, isn't it? He turned up at the bar again, defiantly sitting in exactly the same place.  
  
This time, I didn't tap his shoulder and he didn't try to break my arm. He bought me a drink and I was nice to him. Have you ever seen a puppy with green eyes? Because, if so, it would look exactly like he did right then. We talked magic all evening. To this day, even though I know a bit more about him, I wonder how life became so bad that he had to bury himself in his books to survive. He'll never say, but I've seen the scars on his wrists from the few times he couldn't take any more.  
  
That evening, however, was angst free. We got drunk; he loosened up and blossomed. I let him be as friendly as he wanted. He was an innocent so of course that only meant a few glances when he thought I didn't know. Such an interesting memory, all things considered. But I picked his brain apart, cell by knowledgeable cell. I remember we spoke of summonings and possessions. I can laugh now when I think back to how he artlessly told me about Eyghon and how the demon had been summoned for possession during orgies and was said to give the most incredible sexual pleasures.  
  
"Why haven't you tried it," I asked him. And he did look like he could use the release, if you get my meaning.  
  
He just shrugged and blushed and said that he needed four other people who were half competent to complete the ritual and he hadn't really any friends to ask. I should never have looked at him at that point of time, should never have felt sorry for such a sad existence. And more importantly, Rupert sodding Giles should never have raised his chin and challenged me with those pretty green eyes to dare pity him. Because after that, I was hooked.  
  
Poor Phillip didn't know what was going on when I told him I needed to leave for Oxford and would he and the rest like to come along.  
  
"Oxford? Ethan, you're not planning to go back to your family, are you?" he questioned, looking thunderstruck. You see? Everyone knows I'm quite capable of killing my aunt and uncle if I ever have to see them again.  
  
I longed to smack him that morning, even though we were lying side by side in bed. "No," I managed to reply, "But Ripper needs to go back and I'm going with him."  
  
The avalanche of questions from Phillip, his friend Randall and Deirdre (resident groupie) were enough to make me want to kill them all.  
  
"I'm not bloody in love with the man! I don't even like him! Look at him," I snarled, waving my hand airily, "He's boring!"  
  
Little did I know what I was slowly creating. I went to Oxford and I found out how he lived. His rooms were nice, denoting good family and breeding. In fact, he comes of better stock than I do. And I found out where he trained and whom he went to for his Watcher studies and where he was reading. And I found where he stashed the books that counted- his secret collection of books on black magic. I even knew where he kept the weapons he used on his illicit patrols and what he looked like when he took on those vampires to expend a bit of energy.  
  
My Rupert Giles.  
  
Yes, that sounds comical, does it not? He walked up to me one day and told me the stupidest thing.  
  
"Ethan, I love you," he said.  
  
I was practicing a light spell and this hit me for such a loop that I accidentally switched all the lights in the house off. Which meant Deirdre screeched and ran out of the bath with a towel hastily wrapped around her and her hair still full of soapsuds. It was a while before we got it all sorted out.  
  
Phillip grumbled and got Rupert to help him tune up his guitar. That dolt couldn't play to save his life but he had a guitar. Rupert had seen it, asked for a few lessons and now he still plays it like an angel in spite of being a bit out of practice. His hands were made for it, such as they were made to ply a sword or cast a spell- or touch someone.  
  
A little while later, I was alone in the room again when he reappeared and sat down in front of me determinedly.  
  
"I love you," he said again.  
  
"I heard you the first time," I reminded him, "Which is why we lost our lights. I'm busy. Shut up for a minute."  
  
And he did, sitting back and settling in. Oh, I knew that look on his face; I never adopted the nickname Ripper just because it sounded dark and mysterious, you know. He has the most delicious ruthless streak to go with all that untapped anger. And this time, I should have realized just how serious it was because there was a little smile twitching around his mouth. He's a manipulative bastard!  
  
A full fifteen minutes later, there really wasn't anything else left to occupy myself with so I was forced to look up. Rupert hadn't moved a muscle and his eyes hadn't even left my face.  
  
"You were saying," I leered, trying to get him embarrassed enough to back off.  
  
But he just smiled that soft smile that slit through all my posturing and there you are. As his Slayer would say, the funnies dried up.  
  
"I love you," he repeated.  
  
"That's the third time you've said that. What makes you think I care?" I asked, deliberately being cruel. Caring about someone is never what an adventurer is about; at least not for some tall, sandy haired, green-eyed Watcher with a Jeckyll-and-Hyde personality.  
  
He slithered out of his seat, not looking at all bothered as he stood up and stretched. "I don't think you care at all. Which really doesn't make me give a shit. Now that I've told you, I'm going to leave. I have a paper due tomorrow and I already fucked up my last one."  
  
"Oh, really," I snarked, "I thought you topped on the last one."  
  
"I did," he said, looking puzzled, "But it was all a load of crap. I don't like it."  
  
Here you may allow yourself to visualize me shaking my head; a fucking perfectionist, that's what he is when it comes to himself. He could forgive bloody Adam for Original Sin, but he won't forgive himself- not for the grief his parents forced on him, not for not being a stronger person and not for letting me use him.  
  
And I will say I used him. I've never denied that I followed him all those years ago just because I wanted just a little bit of the knowledge I sensed locked up in that brain of his. I crumbled his barriers and I crumbled his morals and in the end both were only a temporary breach. But not until I had absorbed most of what he had to offer.  
  
Then something went wrong with my plan- he had green eyes and a shy smile. Yes, even an adventurer can fall for that. Curious green eyes that didn't just know every facet of me, but watched my back with an almost obsessive friendship. And that smile. Well, I have already said it cut through my masks. And he felt like home.  
  
I'm an adventurer. I roam the world and hire my services out to those who need someone with a talent and a brain. I've lied and acted my way from continent to continent. But Rupert Giles is home. His sodding little hellmouth even felt like home because he was there.  
  
So one evening when he turned up on my doorstep with a bag stuffed with books, I let him in.  
  
"I left, Ethan. I can't take it there any more," he sighed. He never cried. I can't think why. I've found tears worked a charm on him.  
  
"What are you going to do?" I asked, waiting for his answer.  
  
He laughed and I was startled. "Take me to London, Ethan. I want to cause a little mayhem."  
  
To this day, I believe 'Ripper' lost his sanity for those three years. Whether he was angry or drunk on freedom I have no idea. But he went insane. If he slept he was doing himself a favour. The hell he put himself through was phenomenal. And when I told him to sit down and relax, he'd look surprised.  
  
"Whatever for? I'm not tired yet," he told me.  
  
"You're going to make yourself ill if you keep this up," I said sternly. Me, playing a worried mother hen! The things I've done for that man. "And I refuse to tend your sick bed." I let my own heritage show around him.  
  
"No, I won't," he said cockily, strutting up and down the room with his shirt off, bold as you please.  
  
"What makes you so sure?" I shot back.  
  
He looked at me with his hair falling into his eyes and shrugged humorously. "Because I've always lived like this. I was in a boarding school, Ethan. I not only had my life regimented like everyone else, I also had my Watcher studies. In Oxford, it got worse. And Watcher studies don't just mean book learning and memorizing long lists and pages; it means combat training for at least two hours daily. You think it's impossible for me to exist on such little sleep and infrequent meals. Well, it's what I was condemned to since I was nine years old."  
  
I sat thunderstruck as he finally went to get dressed. Not that I have never known anyone else who was hyperactive, but he'd caressed his wrists while he was at it and in a way that made me think of a cousin of mine. But I think I've already mentioned these scars on his wrists. For what it's worth, I know I've never made him open those veins again whatever else I've put him through.  
  
And of course one night the inevitable happened- we summoned Eyghon. And I watched Phillip writhe in ecstasy and I had never done that before. I was always rather busy having my own orgasm, thank you very much. And for some reason I didn't like what I saw. Not that that signified much. Phillip and I had been casual at best and we had long since stopped.  
  
I sneaked a look at Rupert and he'd got his eyes fixed sternly on our host body, observing everything in that concentrated way of his. It's very disconcerting when you have it directed towards you.  
  
When it was done, Phillip was so drained and sated he almost couldn't move. It was my diabolical idea to send Rupert in next. I told him we needed to observe things from the host's perspectives and that I'd make sure he was safe. He suspected me of having another agenda and he still does me the questionable honor to know I never stop scheming.  
  
He did it. Must I bore you with long-winded speeches of how much I enjoyed it? I did, very much. I watched his head swing from side to side in drugged wonder, his eyes opening wide as he reached fulfillment, the silent scream as he arched. When it was done, he lay still, gasping to get his breath back. The others were babbling on with some crude humor. Rupert wasn't listening to them. He was sated and exhausted and all I could think was that I wanted very much to be Eyghon at that moment.  
  
My Rupert Giles.  
  
As I said, it's a weird thing to say, but it's the truth. The man's a born romantic and his worldly idealism is just as deadly as those green eyes. If I were some twenty-something year old female I'd say, "He's smart and cute and just so adorable!"  
  
But I'm not. I'm me. And all I can say is that I invited him around to my apartment one night, locked the door behind him and we didn't leave the bed until two days later when we both needed to shower and eat. Even then I didn't let him dress. Who knew that wiry frame could be so delectably muscular, so heartbreakingly beautiful?  
  
Rupert Giles.  
  
It must be boring, mustn't it? So long a story based around two names, coming together to name one person. But they do. Unlike the Giles/Ripper contradiction that those charges of his think of; that was meant to put their minds at ease. In truth, I remember Ripper as a fun-loving person, capable of gentleness and fairness amidst the violence of impulse. This Giles who I see now is cynical and hard. And in the end, neither of them are Rupert Giles.  
  
No, my love was Rupert Giles. And when Randall finally came to that bad end Deirdre had always teased him of seeing in his future, Rupert turned on the one thing that could possibly have reasoned the guilt away- our love. He didn't want forgiveness, had never been taught to expect it for himself. In fact, I don't think he would even know how to start.  
  
I could have shown him, but the depression was hitting again. I could see it in the slashes that appeared on his arm. And have you ever seen anyone voluntarily construct a spell around a personal phantom crucifixion and cast it? The marks never appeared on his body, but they haunt his mind, I know that.  
  
And I do what I can to see him. But he always expects me to be trying to make him pay. So I do it; I make him pay. For him. I wreak my havoc, I let him beat me up and I leave, only to come back again. And why? Because I'm an adventurer and I have a home. It's not welcoming. It's cold and forbidding and it hurts, but it redeems me because whatever wrong is worked through my chaos, I save one precious being from certain insanity.  
  
Rupert Giles.  
  
Do you think I'm insane as well? Quite possible! Rupert Giles' books on black magic were thrown at my head when he left, you see. And I use them, if only to keep memories green.  
  
Which is why I find myself cringing back in my bed at the sound of footfalls outside the door of my cell, hoping it isn't those delightful people with their cold surgical gloves and their even colder eyes come to dig into me. I couldn't bear it, you see, if they found out about my home and used it against me. Perhaps I should simply let go. And I will, one day; I'll simply let go and float off into whatever afterlife Janus has planned for me.  
  
I wonder whether they'll call my Ripper and tell him. 


End file.
